Three Times Christmas
by mykelara
Summary: Christmas is the time of year for hope, miracles and love – even in Alec Hardy's lonely life. And maybe he isn't quite as lonely as he thinks he is...
1. Chapter 1 - Beaten

**A/N:** Merry Christmas everyone! (and I'm being deliberately un-PC about it)

This is the story of three different Christmas times in Alec Hardy's life and for those of you who know me, there will be angst and sadness, but it's a Christmas story, so there is also hope, a miracle and a love. I should include a trigger warning as the story will deal with depression and Alec finds himself in a very dark place.

When I wrote most of this story over the July 4th weekend, I thought I'd be done with "A Million Holes" and farther along with "The Ocean Breathes Salty", but it didn't turn out this way. So it might feel a tiny bit out of context and I apologize for that. Just as a reminder, Emma is Baxter's daughter (Alec and Daisy meet her in "A Unicorn In The Snow"). (This is the revised chapter which can also be found as part of "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul – Part Three")

* * *

 **Three Times Christmas**

On Christmas Eve, he survived.

On Christmas Day, he died.

On Boxing Day, he lived.

 **Chapter 1 - Beaten**

 _December 2012_

Hardy woke up, the chilly air creeping into his bones. The heat in his new flat had been a constant source of disgruntlement. He missed the fire place in his old house. He pulled his pillow over his head to muffle the frustrated groan that the image of Dave Thompson cuddled up with Tess in front of a flickering fire evoked.

He rolled over, and his gaze fell on the shiny object on his nightstand. His wedding ring. Last night, he had finally found the courage to take it off. Weeks after the divorce had been finalized. He stared at it, ignoring the pain in his chest and the sting in his eyes. The buzzing of his mobile jerked him out of his gloomy thoughts. Hardy stretched to reach the phone. When he pulled it closer, he accidentally knocked the ring off the nightstand. It fell and landed with a soft clink on the wood floor, spinning to a rest. Hardy watched as it slowed down and eventually stopped. The faint noise rang loudly in his ears. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, then scooted to the edge of the bed, dangled his long arm over the mattress and carefully scooped up what was left from a marriage of almost fifteen years. He palmed the golden band and gently curled his fingers around it.

He dragged his tired body out of bed, shivering in the cold. Then, he padded to his closet, still holding on to the ring. He rummaged through his belongings until he found what he was looking for. It was a small wooden heart shaped box, decorated with glitter and fake gems that were stuck on top of the colorful paint. Daisy had made it for him in nursery school. She had said that Sir Alec needed a treasure box. He flipped the tiny metal lock and placed the ring inside. Maybe one day he'd be able to let go of it for good, but it wasn't today.

His phone went off again. Hardy sighed and squinted at the letters. His far-sightedness seemed to have outgrown the considerable length of his arms. He grabbed his glasses and deciphered the message. Baxter offered him a ride to court. Hardy hesitated, but then accepted. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing to have company. Tess might be there.

It took him longer than usual to settle on a shirt, tie and suit. He didn't feel comfortable in most of his clothes these days as Tess had picked out a lot of them. The weight loss that had come with his heart condition didn't help. He ended up with a dark grey suit that had become his favorite. At least it fit him better than most. The hot shower warmed up his cold body, but he paid for the brief relief with a bout of vertigo that didn't go away until his morning cocktail of pills had taken effect.

His clean-shaven face stared back at him from the mirror, and it was a frightening sight. The beard had helped to conceal the pale, gaunt features that he didn't recognize as his own. He shouldn't have gotten rid of it. Passing his hand over his smooth skin, he wished he still had the scruff to hide behind. He decided against slicking his hair back, letting his fringe fall into his forehead.

He forced himself to eat some toast, fighting the ever-present nausea that came as a courtesy of his potpourri of medications. He had another upcoming appointment with Emily Abbott to discuss the pacemaker placement again. He had been putting it off, not quite seeing the reason why he should take the risk. He hadn't had any major attacks in weeks and he blamed the tiredness on his nightmares and the resulting sleep deprivation. And who would care anyway if he suddenly dropped dead one day? He flinched at the glum thought. He'd been unsuccessfully fighting the effects that his increasing isolation had on him. During his last visit, Emily had given him a questionnaire about depression and when he found himself ticking off one box after the other, he'd taken it, ripped it apart, picked up a new one and given Emily a happier version of his life. One look at her face was enough to realize she didn't buy it, but she also didn't press the issue.

It was time to go, to hopefully close this chapter of his past. To leave the river behind and maybe have a chance to move on. He shrugged on his coat – not the thick woolen one that had been a gift from Tess the past Christmas – made sure he had his pills on him, and left the place he still couldn't call home.

Snow flurries fell softly on his head and got caught in his mop of hair. They didn't stick on the ground, it hadn't been cold enough yet. He stared at the melting white puffy crystals. Last year he'd built a snow man with Daisy, like they had every winter. He hadn't spoken to her for weeks with the exception of the brief phone call on his birthday a few days ago. She had been short with him and in the end cut off the conversation with the excuse she needed to do homework. He had never felt lonelier in his whole life.

"Stop moping about and get in!"

Hardy's head snapped up to be greeted by Baxter's steely grey eyes. He had popped open the door while the car was running and gestured for him to climb in. Hardy dusted off some flakes that were melting already and then slumped onto the passenger seat. He didn't say a word, too caught up in his own world. After they'd passed the first traffic light, Baxter broke the silence.

"Good morning, Ed. Thank you for picking me up." Baxter sounded like he was talking to a child whom he was trying to teach manners to. Hardy rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? You had to do that," he growled.

"Yup. 'Cause it seems you've forgotten how to behave like a normal human being," Baxter retorted seamlessly. Hardy shook his head and stared out the window.

"So, did you think about coming to spend Christmas with us? Louise wants to feed you some of her famous chestnut stuffing. She feels you're getting too skinny with all that rabbit food you're eating," Baxter continued a conversation they'd had last week.

"She said that? I don't believe it. Sounds like something _you_ would say," Hardy argued, shooting his boss a sideways glance.

Baxter smirked. "She might have been influenced by my choice of words."

Hardy snorted in response and Baxter's grin grew wider. "You didn't answer my question."

"I dunno," Hardy sighed. "I wouldn't want to impose. And maybe...," he trailed off, not wanting to reveal the feeble hope he had that Daisy might want to spend Christmas with him. Tess had told him they might have some other plans but she hadn't shared what they were. Hardy had a suspicion that it had something to do with Dave, but until he knew for sure he forbid himself to go down that path.

Baxter gave him a quizzical look, but didn't press the issue. His voice was soft, when he said, "You're always welcome, Alec. You don't have to decide right now."

"Thanks," Hardy mumbled, his eyes trailing the traffic outside. They rode in silence until they reached the court building.

Before they walked in, Baxter held him back. "Alec, whatever happens in there today, remember it wasn't your fault. Don't believe your own lie," Baxter reminded him. They exchanged a brief glance and Hardy dropped his gaze to the floor.

"He's going to plead not guilty, isn't he?" Hardy asked with a quiver in his voice. Baxter's hand clasped his shoulder.

"I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. He didn't want to discuss any deals with the prosecution, so it's a fair assumption," Baxter said evenly.

Hardy dragged his hands down his face. "What if he gets off? I couldn't live with myself."

"Don't think about it. It's only the plea and the case management hearing. A lot can happen in court," Baxter tried to alleviate his anxiety.

Hardy found Baxter's eyes. "I'm not sure I can make it through a full trial, Ed," he admitted quietly. Baxter wasn't fast enough to hide the concern and sorrow from his expression. Hardy caught it before Baxter was able to ban all emotions from his face.

"Don't worry so much. We'll deal with it when... if we have to." Baxter forced a smile and Hardy tried his best to mimic it.

"Aye," he breathed. They walked in, Baxter's warm hand still resting on his shoulder. It couldn't fight off the chill in his bones, but at least it made it bearable.

* * *

Hardy had been in this court room a million times before, but today was different. It could be his last. When he had said to Baxter, he didn't know if he'd be able to withstand a full trial, it hadn't been an exaggeration. He was under no illusion that the only reason why his heart had been reasonably behaved the last few months was due to the utter lack of stimulation and all-encompassing boredom that had become his routine. Baxter had made sure that his tasks at work were not straining and didn't require any major exertion. The talk behind his back that they didn't trust him any more with more complex cases was hurtful to say the least. It fit the picture though they had wanted to paint. The rumor that it was truly his responsibility that the key evidence had been lost had taken firm hold at the Sandbrook nick. The first occasion he had walked into a conversation that was blaming him for everything and how unfairly Tess and Thompson had been treated, his heart almost gave out on him. But he got used to it quickly. Keeping to himself also helped. The only person who remained friendly and often asked how he was doing was Annie Swenson. He was grateful for her timid signs that she cared about him. There were times when her smile was the only thing that got him through a day.

He scanned the crowd nervously. Tess hadn't come. He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed.

He felt a pair of eyes resting on him. Karen White didn't leave him out of her sight. She had come very close to the truth, but besides rumors and allegation, she had never had enough to prove they had lost evidence. That could soon change if they faced a full trial.

The first row of seats for members of the public was taken up by the family members. Ricky Gillespie had an arm around Cate's shoulder. Her face was flat and her eyes were dull, long unkempt hair hanging down. Hardy knew that she had more and more drifted off into a world of addiction. It pained him to see her like that. He didn't dare think about what a not guilty plea would do to her. Ricky caught him staring at them. His face pulled into a scowl and he tugged Cate closer. There was a clear message written all over his face and Hardy looked away.

Marilyn Newbery sat in the row behind them. Her blond hair was pulled back to a bun and her lips were pressed into a tight line. Her expression didn't give away what might be going on inside. Ashworth had continued to deny vehemently he had anything to do with Lisa's presumed death. They had never found the body, a fact that bothered Hardy immensely. The prosecution had even offered a deal if Ashworth were to reveal Lisa's whereabouts, but he remained silent. It was infuriating.

When he stood for the judge, he had to hold onto Baxter as the room suddenly tilted around him. He sucked in a sharp breath, uncomfortably aware of the too fast heartbeat in his chest. His fingers searched for his pills, unwilling to take the risk of waiting until they could sit down again. He popped them out with one hand and stealthily smuggled them into his mouth. He'd gotten quite good at that.

As soon as everyone had taken their seat, Baxter leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "You all right?"

"'M fine," Hardy muttered under his labored breath.

"Liar," Baxter retorted, but then shut up when they called in Ashworth.

Hardy hadn't seen Ashworth since the day before his world had fallen apart. Prison hadn't left his mark on him yet and he carried himself with confidence. Hardy glared at him, but it didn't seem to faze Ashworth.

Claire Ripley had called him the previous day, panicking about what would happen if Ashworth were to walk free. He soothed her as much as he could. Ever since that day she'd come to him begging for company to go to the clinic, he'd stayed in touch. He knew she was using him for her own purposes, but he had no idea what those were. When he had convinced her to testify against her husband, he'd thought their cat-and-mouse game had been over, even if the winner wasn't clear. He had been wrong. She was still playing with him and he dreaded what a trial would bring out in her.

After the usual formalities had been satisfied, the indictment was posed and Hardy held his breath. His hands kneaded his thighs and his heart was hammering away.

"Lee James Ashworth, how do you plead?" the crown's clerk asked.

Ashworth was standing tall and with a smirk on his face, he stated, "Not guilty."

Hardy's heart stuttered and he couldn't suppress a moaned gasp. Baxter's hand had found its way back onto his shoulder.

"Breathe," Baxter ordered him calmly. "Don't give him the satisfaction of passing out in the court."

Hardy took in a shuddering breath and leaned forward, feeling the pull of Pippa's weight on his arms. He didn't hear any of the proceedings arranging for the trial to take place. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he wouldn't be able to leave the river behind. The noise of the crowd moving out of the court room brought him back. He looked up and met Marilyn Newbery's eyes. Anger was burning quietly in them and it was harder to take than Ricky's loud cursing and thrashing about. Cate was too stunned to react, tears flowing down her face.

Hardy was suffocating. He needed to get out of there. He pushed to his feet and staggered out the door before Baxter could come after him. His fingers desperately clawed at his tie and collar. He ripped the button off and yanked the tie over his head. He made it to the restroom where he stumbled into a stall and vomited into the toilet. Shaking, he slid down the plastic partition wall and buried his head under his heavy arms.

There was a loud noise. The door to the restroom was thrown open and Hardy suspected that Baxter had followed him. He didn't look up which was a mistake. He never saw the first blow coming. Ricky's fist hit him hard on the temple and dazed him instantaneously. His head fell to the side and thudded against the wall of the stall. His body followed, tilting towards the floor. Hardy tried to catch his fall, but wasn't fast enough. His face landed flat on the less than cleanly tiles of the men's restroom. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth made him retch. Before he could pick himself up, Ricky had kicked him in the stomach and against his ribcage, robbing Hardy's lungs of all air.

Hardy groaned and tried to curl up and protect his head with his trembling arms as much as he could. Suddenly, there was shouting and noises of a fight. Baxter's authoritative voice boomed through the room, ordering Ricky to stop. Hardy dared to peek out from under his hands. He had never been happier to see his friend. Two uniformed officers pulled Ricky off of him and away.

"Alec! Talk to me," Baxter demanded, stooping next to him. Hardy couldn't because the pain in his chest was growing and with it the empty feeling that let Hardy know his heart was about to stop.

"Need... AED," Hardy croaked. It surprised him that he remembered Emily's instructions for what he should ask in case something like this happened. Baxter was already way ahead of him. He had Hardy's shirt open and the stickers slapped on before Hardy could even process what was going on. The last thing that Hardy heard was the tinny robotic voice advising to stand back. Then his world went black.

* * *

Hardy woke to the sight of the familiar ceiling tiles in the cardiac ICU at South Mercia University Hospital. His head was throbbing and he couldn't really open his right eye. There was a dull ache in his abdomen and a careful deep breath resulted in sharp pain in his chest. Otherwise he seemed to be in one piece. He ran his hand over his chin. There was only a short stubble. So maybe a day might have passed since he got beaten up at court.

He patted around for the call button, expecting they had left it somewhere close like they always did. He found the remote like device, but accidentally hit the wrong spot. The head of his bed started to move down. He didn't mind, not quite enjoying the raised position they had put him in. He straightened out the mattress and decided to go back to sleep instead of ringing for the nurse, exhaustion making him weary.

* * *

The girl clawed at him, tugging him back into the muddy dark. On all fours, he desperately dug his fingers into the earth between the bluebells. Her dead weight pulled on him relentlessly. His limp body was dragged under the water, and the murky river flooded his lungs. He gagged and retched, fighting to get to the surface but to no avail. His gasps grew weaker and weaker until there was only the rattling noise of air bubbling through the foul liquid.

He woke gasping and coughing violently. Breathing was hard. Much harder than it should have been once he recovered from his nightmare. His body shook with the convulsion of another coughing spell. He doubled over to his side, drowning while he was awake. He panicked, not knowing what was going on. It didn't stop, not even when he expelled the mucous that seemed to have been stuck in his lungs. He opened his hand to wipe away the mess, and his heart almost stopped again when he saw the traces of pink, bloody froth on his palm.

A nurse had come into the room and swiftly plugged the oxygen cannula into his nose. He grabbed at it, feeling suffocated by the air pushing into his nostrils. He hacked up more mucous and tasted more blood in his mouth. The nurse held down his hand, preventing him from yanking at the cannula.

"Mr. Hardy, let me help you please," she pleaded. "You need the oxygen. It's going to make it better. Take a few breaths. Let's sit you up." She pulled at his aching body and held him until she had raised the head of the bed to support him being upright. Then she gently lowered him onto his pillow. His breaths were shallow and quick, but he felt less deprived of air which allowed him to calm down. The lingering drowning sensation was deeply unsettling.

"Are you okay if I leave you alone for a moment?" the nurse wanted to know. "I'm going to get Dr. Abbott."

He nodded, unable to speak. His hands were fisted into the sheets while he forced himself to take measured breaths which were rattling through his lungs. By the time Emily walked in, fear about had grown into frank panic.

"Emily, what's happenin'?" he wheezed as soon as she set foot into the room. She quickly stepped up to his bed, scanning the monitor briefly and frowning. Before she addressed him, she gave some orders to the nurse who rushed out to follow them.

"Emily, please?" he begged weakly.

She finally turned her attention to him, and he knew the news couldn't be good. She smiled, but there was worry in her eyes that she could never hide from him. She pulled a chair over and sat down heavily.

"Alec, do you remember when we talked last time and discussed my concern about your heart losing its strength to pump properly?" she probed carefully. He vaguely recalled her mentioning it, but he had refused to acknowledge anything new as he was still barely able to wrap his mind around having a deadly arrhythmia. He shook his head slowly.

"Why do I feel like I'm drowning?" he asked instead.

"Because you are," she sighed. A puzzled frown appeared on his forehead. "Alec, your lungs are full of fluid because your heart isn't able to pump blood properly. So it backs up into the lungs and causes the fluid to seep into the tissue. All the little air sacs in your lungs are filled with that frothy stuff you've been coughing up instead of with plain air. It's called pulmonary edema."

She stopped and observed his reaction keenly. He stared at her, processing what she had told him. It certainly explained why he felt as if he was breathing through water. Not that an explanation helped to alleviate his fear.

"Why?" was all he could say.

"The attack you had yesterday significantly injured your heart and it's having a hard time recovering. Alec, I'm sorry to tell you, but you're currently experiencing is called acute heart failure. We've been treating you for that," she answered, her voice soft. She couldn't hide the underlying sorrow from her words.

Hardy squeezed his eyes shut. He had been waiting for this moment, ever since the days after Tess' confession. He'd been living with the thought of dying for months, and now that it seemed more real than ever, he was unbelievably scared.

"Is that it then?" he breathed, shutting out the world behind his leaded eyelids.

"No, Alec. It's not. This is treatable. It's an acute process and happens to many people after a cardiac arrest. With some luck and the right medications, we'll get you back in shape so that you can finally get that pacemaker," she replied, putting all her professional conviction in her voice.

"Luck?" he echoed meekly. If it hadn't been so serious, he would have laughed. "Luck?" he scoffed, louder this time and opened his eyes, a feral gaze resting on her pale face. "Seriously? Luck?" he shouted, desperation ringing in his own ears. And then hysteria got the better of him. At first it was a guttural chuckle escaping his throat that morphed quickly into cackling laughter until he lost all air and ended up coughing up more bloody froth. Exhausted he fell back onto his pillow, squinting at a shocked Emily.

"Luck..." – he sucked in a rattling breath - "... left me a long time ago," he wheezed bleakly. His eyes wandered to the ceiling tiles and he began counting, the only thing he could do to keep him sane. He had lost it and he knew it. He didn't know what frightened him more – his failing heart or his failing mind.

Emily's hand found its way onto his shoulder. She reached out, cupped his cheek with her warm hand, and gently turned his head towards her.

"You're wrong, Alec. Luck has not left you, you have forgotten how to recognize it," she said warmly. "Ed was there at the court to save your life, that was lucky. Your heart is reacting favorably to the treatment, that is lucky. You haven't died yet, and if that isn't luck then I don't know what is." Her lips curled up into a grin. "Did you know that the nurses have a running bet going on about how many times you'll try to escape during an admission? Whoever wins doesn't have to take care of you the next time you come around. They all participate and you know why? None of them think you'll actually die because they all can't believe how incredibly lucky you've been so far. They also think you possibly made a deal with the devil, but that's a different story."

Hardy stared at her. Her warm eyes sparkled at him and her broad grin made it hard not to smile. Once again, he thought how young she was and how hopeful her outlook on life was despite all the death and dying that surrounded her.

"I'm not lucky, I'm stubborn," he growled, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Emily laughed. "Yah, that's what the head nurse says too. And she's seen it all." She stood up when the nurse came in to inject the medication that she had ordered. "This is a drug that will help your heart to get rid of extra fluid, especially in the lungs. It's rather strong and I'm sure you'll complain about it, but it's going to make you feel better quickly. Oh, and you shouldn't lie flat until the pulmonary edema has improved, you won't feel like drowning as much. Try to get some rest now." She squeezed his shoulder and gave him another reassuring smile.

Hardy called her name right before she left. "Emily, you know what luck is?"

She looked at him quizzically and shook her head.

"To have you as my doctor," he said sincerely and after a stuttering heartbeat or two, he added, "And as a friend."

Emily smiled, blushed, and gave him a nod. Then she left the room without another word. Hardy let his eyes drift to the ceiling again. The tiles were blurring with his silent tears while he cried himself to his lonely sleep.

* * *

Emily had been right. He hated the new medication. It caused him to go to the loo every half hour which in his current state was a laborious task to complete. By the time he was able to breathe more easily, he had lost every ounce of weight his body could shed together with the extra fluid that was being squeezed out of him. But that wasn't it. One night his blood pressure plummeted, he could barely lift his arms and he was too weak to vomit despite the severe nausea that hit him out of nowhere. His heart slowed down to a crawl and he felt life was seeping out of him with every sluggish contraction of the faulty organ in his chest. All he could do was lie there and be scared. He didn't recover until they replaced all the potassium that his body had been losing with the strong diuretic that Emily had put him on. He'd rarely been as frightened in his life.

Getting rid of the fluid in his lungs only helped so much though. His fatigue and weakness were marked. Emily tried to reassure him, telling him his tests were getting better, but he didn't feel it. It was one thing to deal with the possibility that his heart was prone to acting up, but _knowing_ that it was failing was a different story. He couldn't tell if his sleepless nights were due to the ever-present dream of drowning or his anxiety that made his frazzled mind go in circles.

He'd cried more than once in front of Emily, but his anger was worse. He blew up at the poor nurse for checking his temperature; he barked at the house keeping staff for clunking around with the trash can; he kicked Baxter out of the room for no good reason, and he yelled at Emily to leave him be so that he could die alone like he deserved to.

After he'd done that, Emily fled the scene visibly rattled by his outburst, but soon thereafter she retruned with yet another set of pills.

"What's this now?" he snarled at her, tired of the repetitiveness of his life. All he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry himself to sleep.

"Alec, this is an anti-depressant. I'm very worried about some of the things you've said and how you've been acting," she began. He immediately interrupted her.

"What the fuck are you thinking? That I'm some bloody looney who can't handle his life?" he blurted out, unable to control his temper. She flinched under the onslaught of his anger and paled, but continued with a warmth in her voice that he hadn't earned.

"No, you're not. But you're a person in distress who needs help. Please listen to me before you argue with me. You're not in a good place right now. It's not unusual for people who have a new diagnosis of heart failure to be thrown into depression and anxiety. I've been noticing a change in your mood for a while now, and I think it's reached a point where you need to do something about it. I would get our psychiatrist to talk to you, but I think you would refuse. I told him about you, and he suggested this medication. It's one of the few that is safe with your heart condition."

"The last thing I need is to add a mental health problem to my list of ailments," Hardy grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nobody is adding anything to you record. All I'm asking is for you to think about it," she sighed tiredly, running her fingers through her hair. Hardy felt guilty. Dark circles framed her tired eyes against her pale skin.

"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly worried about her. She looked at him in surprise. Then she smiled and dropped her gaze.

"I'm fine, Alec. Just feeling a bit under the weather," she replied. Hardy searched her face. He was sure she was lying, but he refrained from being pushy about it. She'd share if she wanted to.

"Will you consider the medication?" He heard the genuine concern in her voice and because he didn't want to upset her even more, he nodded.

Her features brightened up. "Good. That's a start." She stood and with the smile still lingering, she exited his room.

As soon as she had left, tears welled up again and he couldn't help himself but think that maybe she did have a point. His loneliness and despair had been eating away at him for a long time now, and maybe it had finally caught up with him. Not for the first time, he felt like he was staring into a black abyss that was sucking him in and the things that held him back from falling were crumbling away under his weakening grasp.

In a sad attempt at pulling himself together, he wiped at his eyes and sniveled. He would have given anything to go for a walk in the dark night outside. But he could barely make it to the bathroom by himself. He hated what he had become. With a frustrated groan, he hit the light switch and closed his eyes. Time to torture himself again with the illusion of sleep. He hadn't gotten used to the propped-up position that they wanted him to stay in for now. He had tried to lower the bed, but had paid for it with increased shortness of breath. He counted the ceiling tiles in the dim light that filtered through the curtains of the glass sliding door. On his third go around he drifted off to meet the one faithful companion he still had. The ghost of Pippa Gillespie welcomed him to his nightly horror show and in a way the routine was comforting. Almost. Until they drowned together and she left him sputtering and panting in the lonely night.

* * *

The sun was flooding his room, heating up his cold body. He wasn't sure if it was a symptom of the heart failure, but ever since he'd been admitted this time, he didn't seem to be able to warm up. He was bored out of his mind and was seriously contemplating if he was strong enough to leave the hospital. They had taken him off the oxygen this morning without any issues. He had been here four days already. Maybe it was time to give one of the nurses a chance to win her bet.

There was a knock on the glass doors. Hardy startled and jerked his head around, feeling caught in the act. He was surprised to see Emma Baxter stick her head through the opening of the curtain.

"Hiya, can I come in?" she asked, smiling shyly.

He straightened up and beckoned her in. "Emma, what're you doin' here?" he slurred his words, sucking in a breath.

"Dad said that you're here and probably plotting your escape, so I thought I could say hello before you run," she teased, sitting down.

Hardy huffed. "Not gonna do much running, I hate to disappoint your father," he stated glumly.

"Hm. I see. A bit moody today, aren't we?" Emma retorted with a frown. Hardy rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together. He noted the tiny folded up gauze taped to her arm. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

"You're not having any problems, are you?" he wondered out loud, resting his gaze on where they had taken blood from her. She followed his line of sight.

"Oh, that? No. I'm fine. Routine check-up. They test me every six month to make sure I'm still in remission. I've been cancer free for six years now." Their eyes met. It had been around this time of the year when she had nearly died.

"Do you want to talk, Alec?" she asked quietly. Hardy knew that she helped running a leukemia survivor group. She had told him about it when he stayed with them after he had found out about the affair. Emma's support had played a big part in him being able to cope with his new reality of facing a life-threatening illness. She was one of the few people around him who truly understood.

He dragged his fingers down his stubbly face. "Do you really want to hear me complain about my stupid heart again?" he growled.

She tilted her head and pulled down a corner of her mouth. "If you want to share, I'll be happy to listen. That's what I came for," she invited him to talk. She scrutinized him and then added, "My gut tells me though that you might have something else that's troubling you."

He stayed mute, afraid that if he let go, he'd break through the thin ice he'd been walking on. Emma took in a deep breath, making him wonder what was on her mind.

Slowly, she began talking, "I got my first chemo nine years ago, just around Christmas. That was when Daisy gave me her unicorn. I was twelve. I went into remission at first and I was able to continue my life. It wasn't easy. I felt lonely because the other kids couldn't relate. Nobody had ever told them they might die soon. Two years later, I relapsed and my chances of survival where pitiful. My only hope was the bone marrow transplant. The waiting was the hardest. It took them four months to find an appropriate donor. And when it finally was time, I didn't even want it any more. I didn't care about what would happen to me, didn't care about my friends and my family. All I wanted was to hide somewhere and cry. I was done with hospitals, needles, IVs, beeping monitors, and the constant fear that today might be the last day."

Hardy watched the young woman in front of him while she told her tale and stared out the window. She was drawing circles on the mattress, tugging absentmindedly on the sheets. The silence between them drew out until she spoke again.

"The day they told me I relapsed, my world shattered. I had been doing okay with coping, holding onto the hope that I'd be fine. I had returned to school and resumed my drama classes. But the added burden of knowing that my body really was trying to kill me and that there wasn't much they could do besides the vague chance of the bone marrow transplant that might also kill me, was too much. I fell hard and deep. I didn't try to take my life, but I might as well have because I wasn't doing anything to _carry on_ living," she continued quietly.

Hardy tensed up. He remembered how stricken Baxter had been when they learned that Emma's leukemia had come back. One morning, Hardy had found Baxter crying in his car in the parking garage. Emma had been admitted to the hospital because she had refused to eat or drink anything for several days until she collapsed at home. Hardy had tried to comfort his friend, not knowing what to say. All he could do was to take him once again to his ill child and not leave him alone.

"When I was in the hospital, one of the oncologists made me meet another girl my age who had been going through the same. She shared her story and her despair with me. She was the first person I felt who could truly relate to me and reach me in that dark place I was at." She paused and looked him straight in the eye. "And then she told me to stop dying and start living. She told me to face the depression and not give up. She told me to take the medication they wanted me to take. She told me to be patient and believe in a future. And I did. She saved me." Emma concluded her story with a simple statement that carried so much weight.

There was a sad smile on her face. "Megan died a year later, but she never gave up, not until her last day." She sniffed and quickly wiped at her eyes. "I promised her to do the same and I've not broken it. She urged me to help others who are in the same situation." Emma took Hardy's hand and made sure he couldn't avoid her gaze.

"Everyone's path is different and we never know where it goes and when it ends, but every path is worth walking. And if it's leading you to the edge, you must be brave and move on, no matter how much it's pulling you towards the drop," she said firmly.

Hardy swallowed around the lump in his throat. He withdrew his fingers from hers and pressed the heels of his hand on his watery eyes. "I don't know if I can do that," he whispered. "I feel like I'm already falling."

"I know," she admitted. "That's why I came."

Hardy blinked through his tears. "What do I do?" he breathed, his voice breaking.

"Have you considered taking medication? I had a hard time accepting the idea that that was okay and didn't brand me as a looney."

Hardy snorted. "Like I need another diagnosis."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But after a few weeks of shoving more pills into my body, I saw it differently. Because it worked. It took a while and it was hard to be patient, but I'm glad I stuck it out."

"My doctor wants me to take anti-depressants," Hardy admitted reluctantly.

"Good. She seems to know what she's doing. You should give it a try, Alec. You might be surprised." She smiled again.

"Hm," was his sole response. He didn't know why it scared him so much to face the reality.

Emma stood. "So, are you coming for Christmas? Dad said he invited you."

"Dunno. Don't wanna impose," Hardy mumbled.

"Nonsense. You're always welcome. It's better than being alone. Think about it," she urged him. "Take care of yourself, Alec. And I mean it." She left him with a radiant smile and a reassuring nod.

When he signed himself out two days later, he didn't only leave the hospital with three new medications but also with a fourth bottle that was hopefully going to help mend his broken heart in a very different way.


	2. Chapter 2 - Frozen

**A/N:** Merry Christmas everyone and especially to HAZELMIST – this is for you!

(This is the revised chapter which can also be found as part of "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul – Part Three")

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Frozen**

 _Christmas Eve 2012_

It was snowing, and his ragged breaths formed white little puffs in front of his mouth. Hardy was slowly dragging his feet along the icy sidewalk. This was his first Christmas as a divorced man while someone else took his place next to his daughter and ex-wife. Tess had deprived him of the opportunity to spend time with Daisy over Christmas. They were going away, she had said, down South to see fucking Dave's parents. And even worse, Tess had claimed Daisy didn't want to see him.

His fury at the situation was only matched by the all-encompassing feeling of loneliness. More and more he felt like he had nothing left in his life. Daisy was often the only thing that kept him going. But now that she was more withdrawn than ever, it was hard to hold on to that.

He stopped, needing to catch his breath. His heart condition had deteriorated ever since his last major attack after Lee Ashworth pleaded not guilty. He shuddered at the memory of Ricky Gillespie coming after him. Hardy was ashamed that he'd been too weak to fight off being beaten up in a bathroom stall at court. Luckily, Ed Baxter had been around to pull Ricky off of him. The black eye, bleeding nose, and the bruised ribs hadn't been an issue, needing CPR in front of half of his colleagues had though. He had passed out and the portable AED – besides shocking him back into a more normal rhythm – had advised to give chest compressions. Six days later he had discharged himself from the hospital with Emily joking that his unruly behavior had at least the advantage that she never needed to do all the extensive discharge summary writing.

That was three weeks ago. Since then he had been placed on medical leave, even Baxter couldn't save him from that. It was probably for the better as his heart had taken a serious hit this time around. More so than with all the other episodes that had landed him in A&E. In the end, he had left the hospital not only with his usual medication but three additional pill bottles to help with the new-onset heart failure. He also left ten pounds lighter after losing all excess water weight his body might have had and barely able to walk for more than half a mile without falling over and gasping for air.

His flat was yet another mile away, cold and uninviting. It was Christmas Eve and the last thing he wanted to do was be home alone. He took a few more steps and sacked against a wall. He shouldn't push himself further. If he didn't make it there, who would care anyhow? He tried to pull himself together, fighting the pull of the blackness of his depression. At least he had the willpower to resist. Emma had been right. After about three weeks of taking the anti-depressants he saw his mood changing. He was still lonely, and it was killing him to be without his family, but the dark abyss that had been sucking at the very core of his soul was losing its draw. He had found energy to get up in the morning, to get out of the house and try to take his life back. The other medications were doing their job as well, helping his ailing mind by letting him breathe more easily and increasing his stamina.

Emily had instructed him to follow up with her twice a week which he had been doing obediently. He had seen her the day prior and she seemed content with what she saw. Or at least that was what he wanted to believe. She had brought up the pacemaker again, teasing him that it could be his New Year's resolution to finally get it done. He followed her innocent remark with a bad joke, saying that she should not have put him on the anti-depressants if she wanted him to commit suicide. She didn't find that funny at all. In fact, he had made her cry. He had never managed to do that before, at least not to his knowledge, and he felt tremendously guilty. He apologized for being an arse, and she apologized for being unprofessional. And then she told him that she was pregnant and had been a little on the emotional side.

Hardy hadn't known what to say. He was happy for her, but also extremely anxious about losing her as his doctor. He congratulated her, rather subdued. She picked up on it quickly. She had told him not to worry and that while she was out on maternity leave, he would still be welcome to talk to her. Hopefully by the time the baby would come he'd be better and have the pacemaker placed already. He didn't want to burst her happy bubble. He had no intention to proceed with the pacemaker, not until Ashworth's trial was over.

She had asked him what he was going to do for the Holidays. He shrugged and admitted to not knowing. Both Baxter and Duncan had invited him, but the thought of being with another happy family was worse than the thought of being alone. At least he had assumed so. Now, that he was walking the deserted streets all by himself in the dark, he wasn't so sure any more. Breathing heavily, he fished his phone out of his pocket and looked for Duncan's number. He hovered over the call button, then changed his mind. He didn't want to spoil the kids' Christmas Eve. He scrolled until he found Baxter's info. Before he could lose courage, he dialed.

It rang a few times and then Baxter picked up. Christmas carols were playing in the background. "Alec? You all right?" There was concern in Baxter's voice, grown from the fact that lately Hardy only called him when he was in trouble.

He cleared his throat. "'M fine. Don't worry. I was just..." He paused, not quite knowing how to invite himself for Christmas Eve. He didn't have to.

"Do you want to come over?" Baxter asked softly, reading his mind.

Hardy hesitated. Did he really want to intrude on his friend's holiday time? He would be an outsider and only be thinking of what he had lost. He'd do the same though, if he were by himself, allowing the ever-present abyss to suck him into its gaping dark of never-ending sorrow and despair. He shuddered.

"Alec, where are you? I'll come and get you. I don't want you to be alone tonight, all right? Please, let me do this, let me be your friend," Baxter pleaded with him.

"You don't have to. I can get a car," Hardy mumbled, frozen to the bone and barely able to get a word out between his chattering teeth. His boney body seemed unable to keep in any warmth. He leaned against the wall of the building next to him. The tugging in his chest had turned into pain, and Hardy knew he had overdone it with his lonely walk. He moaned, propped the phone between his ear and shoulder, and fished out his pills.

As usual, Baxter had sharp ears and picked up on his distress immediately. "Alec, I can tell you're not fine. Once again, where are you? I'm gonna come and get you. You won't get a taxi easily tonight."

Hardy squinted at the house to see the number, but his vision was getting too blurry. He slid down the wall, sitting in the snow, knees pulled up and one arm wrapped around his torso.

"If you don't tell me where you are right now, I'll have them trace your phone and send 999 out there," Baxter shouted at him, waking him from the foggy haze he was drifting off to. He idly noticed that the music in the background at the other end of the line had been replaced by the sound of a running car.

The threat worked. He pulled himself together as much as he could, ignoring the increasing shortness of breath. "I'm on Nelson Street, can't read the number, about a mile from my flat."

The urgency in Baxter's voice grew. But he wasn't talking to Hardy. "He says he's on Nelson, a mile from his place. Can you figure out where it could be?"

A muffled response filtered through the speaker. "I'm on it. Keep him talking. You're sure we shouldn't call an ambulance, Dad?"

It must be Emma who was with him in the car. Hardy felt awful, ruining their Christmas Eve.

"Alec, do you remember the last cross street?" Baxter addressed him again.

"Ed... you don't... have... to do... this. I'm... sorry... shouldn't... have... called," he muttered breathlessly.

The muddy snow had soaked through his bottom and the cold was burning him.

"Nonsense. You're coming to our house. Should have fetched you earlier. Stay where you are."

 _Ha,_ that was easy. He couldn't get up anyway. His whole body was shaking with the chill invading his bones. His mind was getting sluggish. "So cold...," he wheezed into the speaker. His fingers were stiff with frost and he almost dropped the phone.

"Alec, don't fall asleep. Are you sitting down?" When Hardy didn't answer, he repeated his question, shouting this time and breaking through Hardy's stupor.

"Aye."

Baxter cursed. "Alec, can you get up and walk around a little, warm yourself up?"

Hardy tried, but he lacked the strength and tilted over, unable to prop himself up. The phone clattered to the ground, too far for him to reach. He heard Baxter talking while his vision blurred more and more until he succumbed to the urge to close his eyes. His addled mind gladly embraced the hypothermia induced illusion of soft warmth surrounding him and his body slumped into the icy snow.

* * *

"God damn it, he's not answering any more." Baxter gripped the steering wheel harder. "How long till we get there?"

"A few minutes, best guess. We don't know exactly where he is. Turn right here, we can drive down Nelson towards his place." Emma pointed towards the direction she suggested.

Baxter berated himself. "I shouldn't have left him alone tonight. Stupid. Should have known better. Of course, he wouldn't take it well."

"Dad, you can't force him. He's too stubborn for that. He called, that's a big step for him." Emma put her hand on his arm. "We'll get there in time. Don't worry."

"Emma, I'm not sure if you understand how ill he actually is right now." His concern made his tone sharper than he had intended. "His doctor called me yesterday and told me how worried she is after she saw him in her office. The heart failure is barely under control, and he can't even walk half a mile without getting into trouble. Who knows what he did to himself, wandering around in the cold?"

Emma sighed. "Is he taking the anti-depressants?"

"What?" Baxter was immediately alarmed.

"Oh, you didn't know. I probably shouldn't talk about it then."

Emma shot her father a sheepish glance whose distress was reaching another level by now.

"Seriously? Out with it, or I'm going to lose my shit here."

Emma squirmed in her seat. Then she spilled the whole story, how Hardy had told her that his doctor recommended to take medication for depression and how he didn't want to because he wasn't a looney. Reluctantly, she told her father how she had shared her own experience of her life-threatening illness and her struggle with depression. In the end, she had convinced Hardy to at least try the medication for a few weeks to see what would happen.

"God, I had no idea. I mean, I always suspected as much, but it's different if you know it." Baxter couldn't hide the tremble in his voice. This man was such a mess and so reluctant to accept any help, it was infuriating.

"Dad, stop! I think I saw him."

Baxter hit the brakes hard, sending the car skidding on the snowy road. He pulled over, and they both hurried to the man slumped against the wall of a building. Hardy was lying in the muddy icy slosh of the sidewalk, clothes soaked, and a fine layer of snow dusting his coat. He wasn't moving. Baxter's heart sank.

He stooped down, shaking Hardy's shoulder.

"Alec?" he said, and then louder, "Alec!" He felt for Hardy's pulse. It was slow – so slow – but at least it was there. Hardy's chest movements were shallow, but again, at least he was breathing. His skin was ice cold under Baxter's warm hands.

"Thank God, he's alive," Baxter muttered. Emma let out a long sigh of relief. Again, He shook Hardy gently, knowing very well that startling his friend might set off his heart. But he had to wake him up.

Hardy moaned, and his eyes fluttered open for a second. Baxter could only guess that Hardy's slurred words indicated that he was too cold.

"Emma, help me to get him into the car, he needs to warm up."

They both crouched down and each grabbed one of Hardy's arms. They pulled him up and Baxter couldn't help but notice that he felt even bonier than the last time he had dragged him half-dead to his car. This was becoming an unhealthy habit.

They managed to get him there and shove him into the passenger seat. The heater was better there than in the back. Emma started the engine and put the air on full blast while Baxter pulled off as many wet pieces of Hardy's clothing as he thought was reasonable. Coat, jacket, shirt, and T-shirt. He debated a moment if he should take off Hardy's trousers. Another shudder running through Hardy convinced Baxter they needed to go. Baxter peeled off his own sweater and shirt and tugged them over Hardy's head and naked torso. It was a struggle to get the clothes on Hardy and hold him up at the same time, as Hardy was limply falling over, not having the strength to hold himself up. Baxter shivered in his undershirt, but he didn't care. He draped his coat over Hardy's bare legs, buckled him in, checked his pulse one more time, and made sure the heater blow was aimed at him. Emma had come around and added her own coat, covering Hardy's chest and shoulders.

They got into the car and drove off. By the time, they reached their house some color had returned to Hardy's cheeks, or at least they went from grey to his normal pale complexion. He moaned and moved in his seat, his teeth chattering. When Baxter opened the passenger side door, Hardy's eyes popped open.

Once they focused, Hardy muttered, "'M sorry."

Baxter cringed at how distraught his friend was.

"For God's sake, Alec. Stop being sorry all the time and start listening to people in the first place before getting yourself into trouble," Baxter snapped at him, exasperated from having to rescue his friend one too many times.

Hardy stared at him with those wide hazel eyes of his which never failed to remind Baxter of a forlorn puppy.

Baxter sighed. "It's all right. I should have insisted on you spending the Holidays with us."

Hardy moved and the coat slid off his legs. He frowned.

"Where are my trousers?" Eyeing Baxter and himself more closely, he added, "Is this your sweater? And shirt?"

Baxter grinned and nodded. "It sure is. We had to strip you or you would have been an ice lolly."

Hardy's gaze fell on Emma and his ears turned bright red. He clumsily pulled the coat back over his naked legs, looking everywhere but at the young woman. Baxter locked eyes with his daughter and they both started laughing.

"Oi, 's not funny, seriously," Hardy protested meekly, but then the corner of his lips curled up in a tiny smile. Emma went inside the house to get some of her father's jogging bottoms. She handed them to Hardy and left the garage to give Hardy an illusion of privacy. Baxter stayed behind, watching his friend with hawk's eyes. His movements were slow and labored, even with such an easy task like dressing himself. It was painful to see him like that.

"Emily called me yesterday."

Hardy stopped dead in his tracks. He intently studied the reindeer pattern of Baxter's ridiculous Christmas jumper which hung loosely from his too skinny frame.

"Did she now? Still not adhering to patient confidentiality then I guess. Should really report her one of these days," he said while idly picking on a reindeer's red nose.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were finally past keeping secrets all the time."

Baxter didn't try very hard to hide the hurt in his voice. Hardy lifted his gaze and looked him straight in the eye. Remorse was written all over his face.

"I know I should have talked to you. I just couldn't." He inhaled and dragged his hands over his stubbly cheeks. Feral eyes fixed on Baxter, the dam broke and Hardy spilled what he'd been holding back for too long.

"It's so overwhelming. I barely got used to the idea of having this bloody arrhythmia, holding on to the illusion I could possibly control it with medications and get away with it. And then I get beaten up in court for something I didn't do while bloody Ashworth stands there, healthy and untouched by all the pain he's caused. My fucked-up heart is failing and they sent me home with all these new pills that make me feel like shit and I can barely go for a walk without falling over. Daisy doesn't want to see me, not even at Christmas, and they are going to fucking Dave's parents' house and everything seems so hopeless and it's getting worse and worse and I can't –"

As abruptly as he had started, he stopped, hiding his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Baxter didn't know where to begin to console his friend. Maybe he should hug him. So, he did. He walked over to where Hardy was perched against the hood of the car. He pulled him into a tight embrace and let him cry against his shoulder. Hardy's body was cold and it made Baxter shiver in his undershirt. Remembering what Emma had revealed, he was determined not to let him be alone, at least not until he could assure himself that Hardy wasn't going to do something drastic.

When the sobs slowed down, he loosened his arms and pushed Hardy away, far enough so that he could look him into the eyes. "You can get through this. You're stronger than you think you are. Stay with us for a few days, I'm not leaving you alone, not like this. No discussion."

Hardy wiped at his face and nodded. Very quietly he admitted, "I think I shouldn't be."

A shiver ran down Baxter's spine. This was as close as his friend had ever come to sharing his darker thoughts since he nearly died after Tess' confession. It scared the hell out of Baxter, but he had dealt with his daughter's depression during her illness, so he was going to deal with this now.

"All right, that's settled then." Baxter resorted to being pragmatic, his fail safe for all disaster. "Let's get you in front of the heater and feed you some food. I bet you didn't eat anything today, knowing how shitty you are at taking care of yourself."

Hardy gave him a sheepish look and rubbed the back of his head.

"No, I didn't. All the medications make me feel nauseated a lot," he grumbled. Then he cursed under his breath.

"What?"

"I don't have my pills with me, Ed. I can't really skip them." An angry scowl scrunched up his face, and he scuffed the ground with his muddy shoe. He looked like a school boy who got kicked off the football team.

Baxter put his arm around his shoulders and led him into the house. "Don't worry. We'll get you warmed up and fed, then we'll go back to your place and pick up what you need. I don't mind at all. All right?"

Tension fell off Hardy's wiry body when finally accepted his friend's genuine offer to take care of him. The harsh light in the hallway didn't flatter him, and the exhaustion of the day showed in his drawn face. Baxter did his best to ignore the dark circles under Hardy's eyes which were stark contrast to his pale complexion. HE ushered him to their living room, pushed him down onto the sofa next to the Christmas tree, tossed him a few blankets, and went to the get some of the leftover food. He briefly talked to his wife, Louise, explaining his plan. She was more than happy to have Hardy as a guest for as long as needed. She fixed him a plate for their visitor, and when Baxter returned to the living room he found Hardy sound asleep under a bundle of blankets, hugging a pillow. Sighing, Baxter put down the plate and tucked the blankets tighter around him.

He watched over Hardy for a while, taking reassurance in Hardy's measured breaths. He had no desire to wake him up to go back to his flat, out in the cold, but he understood the need for Hardy to take his medication in time. Mulling over his options, an idea sparked his mind. Maybe Hardy had a list of his pills in his wallet which would allow him to go to Hardy's flat by himself and pick up the things they needed.

He rummaged through Hardy's pockets and found what he was looking for. As soon as he opened up Hardy's wallet, he dropped it like a hot potato. There was a photograph of Pippa Gillespie where there should have been one of Daisy. He stooped down and stared at it. He had had no clue that Hardy was so obsessed with the case that he would carry around a picture of the dead girl. It didn't only bother Baxter immensely, but saddened him at the same time. He took in a deep breath, trying not to jump to conclusions, but it seemed unhealthy. He would have to talk to him about it. However, not today or tomorrow. The man deserved a break from his demons.

Baxter picked up the wallet again, and to his surprise he found what he was looking for. A neatly written list with all the many medications, how often Hardy needed to take them, and the phone numbers of who to notify in case of emergency - Baxter, Emily Abbott, and Tess to reach Daisy. It wasn't Hardy's hand writing and he strongly suspected it was Emily who had supplied him with this detailed information. He found Hardy's keys as well, told his family his plan, and off he went on his eternal quest to help his friend.

* * *

When Hardy woke up, he felt warm and more rested than he had in days. A moment of disorientation passed when he remembered what had happened. He sat up in the dimly lit room. The lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow onto a covered plate and a glass of water placed on the coffee table. Next to it were his phone, glasses, wallet and keys. And a note. He grabbed his glasses and the piece of paper.

 _Alec,_

 _There's some food for you if you should wake up hungry. Feel free to get anything in the fridge or kitchen you want. Tea's in the cabinet to the left of the stove. Your clothes are in the dryer. I brought some of your stuff and your medications. They are in the hold all next to the table. We can go back tomorrow for whatever else you may need. Hope you don't mind me going to your place without you. If you get tired of the sofa, the guest room is down the hall, last door to the left, in case you forgot. Bathroom is the last door to the right._

 _See you in the morning. Don't eat Father Christmas' cookies!_

 _Happy Christmas!_

 _Ed_

Hardy smiled and put the note down. He was touched. It had been a while since someone prepared food for him. Let alone helped him to take care of himself. He reached for the hold all and dug out his medications. It was way after midnight, and all his regular times were off. He knew if he took all the pills together, it would make him miserable. He had tried before in a moment of feeling rebellious against the constraints of his sorry life. He dragged his hands over his face and embarked on the tedious task of deciding what could wait and what couldn't. He settled on three, deferring the others until the morning. Louise's food was delicious and he managed to eat some before getting too nauseated. After he cleaned up his plate in the kitchen, he collected his belongings to move to the guestroom.

It was the same room he had occupied when he had come back from the hospital after he had learned about Tess' affair and the pendant. Things hadn't gotten better since then. His decision to take the blame had been heavily based upon his belief he wouldn't survive for very much longer. Seven months later, he was still around. He had had many close calls, the one tonight included. In those rare moments where he was truly honest with himself, he regretted his decision. He never could have predicted the ill effect it had on his relationship with Daisy. If it hadn't been for Baxter and Duncan, he would have given up a long time ago. They kept an eye on him and didn't let him get away with shit.

He plopped down on the bed and pulled the warm blanket over his cold body. Unable to lie flat despite having the pulmonary edema mostly under control, he propped himself up with a few pillows. Sleep didn't come. Restless, he got up again and trudged back into the living room. He eyed the cookies. He hadn't had cake or any sweets in a long time.

He paid for his crime with crumbs all over his sheet, but it had been worth it. Snuggled in under the covers, he closed his eyes, hoping like every night not to be plagued by nightmares. Maybe Father Christmas would grant him that wish despite him nicking his cookies. He didn't, and like every day, Christmas morning was no exception. Hardy woke choking, coughing, and sputtering, haunted by Pippa's ghost.

When his mind came back to the here and now, he was greeted by cheesy Christmas music floating through the house. Baxter was singing along with "Last Christmas" and Emma yelled at him to shut up. Baxter sang louder and made an effort to be as off key as he could be until Louise put an end to it. Hardy smiled at the happy family banter. Despite being rattled by his dream, he enjoyed the fact that he wasn't quite alone in this world.

The smell of roasting meat watered his mouth, and surprisingly he was hungry. He was still wearing Baxter's ridiculous reindeer jumper and the jogging bottoms which were way too big for him. He stuck his head out of the room to see if the air was clear for him to sneak into the bathroom without being noticed. He wasn't stealthy enough.

"Ah, sleeping beauty has risen!" Baxter exclaimed from the kitchen door way. Hardy stepped out into the hallway, rubbing the back of his head.

"You know it's after noon already, right?" Baxter teased.

Hardy's mouth gaped open. He hadn't slept that much in months. Maybe his wish had been granted after all. He was shaken out of his thoughts by a pair of trousers landing in his face.

"Here. You've got time for a shower and to get dressed, before we eat." When Hardy pulled the clothes off his head, there was a flash. He glared at a grinning Baxter.

"For my blackmail collection." Baxter smirked, waving the camera.

Hardy groaned and rolled his eyes. He picked up the clothes and trudged into the bathroom. He peeled off the reindeer sweater and the jogging bottoms. The skinny man in the mirror was still the same, but he held himself a bit straighter today, and with some imagination his face didn't look as pale as it had yesterday. And when he put on the new suit that he had bought for himself and the light blue shirt, he could almost pretend that life was all right. Not great, but also not utter misery.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking, Alec? What was that even supposed to _be_?" Baxter cried out in frustration and snatched the piece of paper from his forehead. Emma and Louise were giggling, huddled together on the sofa.

"You know, walk like an Egyptian." Hardy pouted. He folded his lanky arms in an awkward angle and shuffled through the living room.

"Egyptian? What the..." Baxter glared incredulously at Hardy while he squinted at the scribbles on the paper. "Cleopatra? Seriously, you couldn't come up with anything better than _this_?" Baxter imitated Hardy's poor attempt at portraying an ancient hieroglyph.

Emma actually fell to the ground, she was laughing so hard and Louise wiped at her tears. The two men had proven themselves as the worst charades players in history and it had been a spectacle to watch them.

"You're awful at this," Baxter complained.

"Oh, and you think you're so much better, ey?" Hardy snarled back. They hadn't scored one single point, even missing what the women had thought would be a dead shoe in for them – Sherlock Holmes. Still, Hardy had to admit it had been fun to entertain Baxter's family with his sorry attempts at acting out famous figures of the world. He hoped Baxter wasn't going to fire him over this utter failure. He eyed his scowling friend's face and a small grin played over his lips.

"Oi, I'm still your boss," Baxter grumbled.

"Not right now. I'm on leave." Hardy smirked and escaped Baxter's death stare into the kitchen where Louise was hiding the cookies. He really shouldn't indulge, but it was hard to resist the temptation. He had one hand in the cookie jar, when his phone rang.

All temptation was quickly forgotten when he saw who was calling. He fumbled with the handset and almost dropped it.

"Darlin', how are you?" he greeted his daughter softly.

"Hi Dad. I'm okay, I guess," Daisy answered without much enthusiasm.

Hardy's heart fell. A suspicion that Tess had made her call rather than her wanting to speak to him grew inside.

"So, how's Brighton?" he asked to bridge the silence.

"Boring," came her monosyllabic answer. Hardy frowned and started pacing through the kitchen. He contemplated how much longer he could hold back and ask her if Tess was the only reason why they were talking. His patience didn't last very long.

"Daisy, did your mother make you call? You don't have to if –"

"Dad! Why would you say that?" she exclaimed indignantly.

Because she hadn't been calling. Because she barely talked to him the few times she had. Because she didn't want to _see_ him.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," was all he said instead, hiding his hurt feelings. He had made a choice and had moved out of the family home, leaving her behind with her mother. What was he expecting?

"It's all right, Dad. It's my fault. It's not like I have been in touch a lot lately." Hardy stopped and leaned against the counter, shoving one hand in his pocket. He didn't like the downbeat tone in her voice.

"Daisy, what's wrong?" he queried gently.

There was only breathing on the other side and he wondered if she was crying.

"Darlin', please talk to me," he pleaded, head hanging low. He hated that he couldn't be there and hold her in his arms.

"I don't like being here," she blurted out eventually. "Mum's trying to impress Dave's parents. If I dare say anything, she's laying into me. And I can't stand listening to her telling them how _great_ Dave is, how much more _involved_ he is in the family, not like her negligent ex-husband. Mind you she's talking about a guy who left his wife and two little children to be with Mum. How involved does that make him in _that_ family? I hate it," she spat. Hardy had to sit down. He was glad that she opened up to him, but in her anger she was completely oblivious of what her words meant to him.

"I'm sorry, darlin', that you had to go there with them. I had told your mother you could spend Christmas with me, but she said you didn't want to." He wasn't sure how that would console her, but it slipped out before he could hold back.

"What? I never said that. The only thing I mentioned was that maybe you're not up for having me around after what happened at court a few weeks ago," Daisy cried out.

It was easy to tell how mad she was. He cursed Karen White for writing that horrendous article about the poor father of the victim seeking his just revenge by beating up the detective in charge. It escaped Hardy's comprehension how battering him was _just_ , but the public seemed to have latched onto it.

"Oh, Daisy," he sighed. "I would have loved nothing more than having you with me. Christmas without you isn't the same."

"Don't get soppy, Dad," she warned him. After a few more silent moments, she added, "Did you get hurt?" There was a quiver in her voice that tugged on Hardy's heart.

He rubbed his fingers over his tired eyes. Daisy still didn't know about his heart condition. He had never told her. "'M fine. Don't worry so much."

"Seriously? You get beaten up so badly that you need to go to the hospital and you want me not to worry. How could I not?" She was truly upset and Hardy cursed the damn press. He was glad though that Karen White hadn't heard about the real reason why he ended up in the ICU.

"I'm _fine_ ," he emphasized. "A black eye and bloody nose, that was all. It's all gone by now." He cringed at the white lie. "When are you coming back?" he asked to distract from the uncomfortable subject of his health.

"After New Year's. Mum and Dave are bribing me with a trip to London."

Hardy smiled at her barely hidden excitement. "Oh, that is nice," he said, making an effort to sound enthusiastic.

"Dad, you don't have to pretend. I know you miss me. I miss you too," she admitted quietly. Hardy squeezed his eyes shut again. It was too hard to hear her say it. "Why can't I come live with you, Dad?" she wanted to know for the millionth time.

Tess and he had agreed it would be better for Daisy to stay in her familiar environment, the house she grew up in. But that wasn't the main reason. Hardy had made it very clear to Tess that he might not be able to take proper care of his child due to his health. The thought of Daisy finding him dead in his bed or the shower or wherever his crummy heart decided to give out on him for good was terrifying him. Tess had argued that if he was that worried then he should finally go ahead with that bloody pacemaker and be more involved in his daughter's life. He had said nothing to that, unable to share with her how poor his chances really were.

"Daisy, you know why. It's better for you to be with your mother. I can barely take care of myself," he said meekly.

"Exactly, that's why I should be with you. You're shit at that and I could help," she retorted.

"Language," he said reflexively, not even meaning it. He wanted nothing more than to be with his child, but reason told him it was the right thing to shield her from his misery.

"Ugh," she groaned.

"Tell you what. When you're back, let's have tea at Mary's and then we'll come up with a plan so I can see you more often?" he suggested as a peace offering. A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have had any willpower to make such plans. But things were changing. At least he hoped so.

"All right," she conceded. "Where are you anyway? You're not alone, are you?" she added, worry clouding her voice.

He smiled and got up. "No. I'm not. I'm at Ed Baxter's house. They invited me over."

"Oh, I'm glad that you're hanging out with them. What have you guys been doing?"

Hardy's smile grew wider while he stuck his hand in the cookie jar. "Playing charades," he revealed.

"Oh, my gosh, who's the unlucky one who got stuck with you?" she chuckled.

"Ed. I think he's regretting that he let me stay here. We missed Sherlock Holmes."

"You always do. You're so _bad_ at this, it's unbelievable. I remember last year when you got Cleopatra and you did this – I don't even know what that was supposed to be," she went on, reminiscing about his sorry exploits.

"Walk like an Egyptian, that's what it was. Ed didn't get it either," he mumbled while chewing the cookie.

"You tried that again? I don't know what to say," she huffed.

"It makes people laugh," he admitted. There was a pause on the other end.

"Dad, don't tell me you've been deliberately acting like an idiot every time we played charades?" she asked suspiciously.

He grinned. "It's a possibility one cannot exclude," he stated cryptically.

"Oh, my God, you have, haven't you?" she squealed. "You're impossible."

He hadn't, he truly sucked at the game, but he was pleased with the ambiguity, enjoying the carefree back and forth. He was about to say something when he heard Tess' muffled voice on the other end.

"Dad, I have to go. They're having supper and Mum wants me there," she sighed.

"It's all right, darlin'. I'm glad we could chat. Ring me when you're back and we'll have tea. Say hello to your mother," he said, hiding the disappointment from his voice.

"I'm glad too. Happy Christmas, Dad. I love you." Her voice was warm.

"Happy Christmas, Daisy. I love you too, always." He ended their call, feeling more hopeful than he had in weeks. Emma had been right, it was time to stop dying and start living again.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was originally the first part of "Three Times Christmas". I had been hoping to be mostly done with "A Million Holes – Part 2" and the plan was to have told Alec's story up until Christmas 2012 but alas, I didn't quite get as far as I wanted. That's why "Chapter 1 – Beaten" is a wee bit out of context, filling in some of the holes in the story so we can pick up on Christmas Eve 2012. I'm in the process of finishing "A Million Holes" and the other parts I wanted to write about to round up the prequel story of how Hardy ends up in Broadchurch. One thing you should know is, that this part of the story is set before Ashworth's trial happens. At this point in my universe, Hardy has taken the blame for what happened but it's not public knowledge yet that the evidence disappeared and why. That still has to come during the trial. So Daisy doesn't know anything about the affair. Yet. And she's still sort of talking to her dad. Not much though.

The next chapter will take us a year ahead, to Christmas 2013, the Christmas between S1 and S2 of Broadchurch, right after the events of "October Blues" and "November Fog". Happy Christmas everyone and don't eat Santa's or Father Christmas' cookies!


	3. Chapter 3 - Drunk

**A/N:** This is the second Christmas – the Christmas between S1 and S2 of Broadchurch. This follows the events in "October Blues" and "November Fog". Alec is very lonely, but it is Christmas and miracles can happen...

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Drunk**

 _Christmas Day 2013_

Alec Hardy was staring at the horizon. He had ventured out and climbed to the top of the cliffs overshadowing Broadchurch. The wind was tugging on his too thin coat and his hair was being blown in all directions. He shoved his cold hands into his pockets. A few flurries heralded the heavy snowfall that was forecasted.

He had escaped the cottage after being cooped up with Claire for the last two days. It was more than he could handle. Her constant attempts at dragging him into her bedroom were tiring to say the least. He had no interest whatsoever. Besides, there was the fact that most likely any more strenuous activity than walking around at snail's pace would send him over the edge. Unfortunately, he had no excuse not to hang out with her as the police academy was closed for the holidays and it wasn't like he had a booming social life.

He pulled out his phone, staring at the last text message from Daisy that he had received on his birthday. He hadn't heard a word from her since. His thumb brushed over the speed dial button and he closed his eyes, making a wish. It was in vain and he counted to seventeen until the voicemail picked up. Slowly pacing up and down along the edge of the cliff, he left a message.

"Hello darlin', it's Dad. Just calling to say Happy Christmas. Hope you're having a good time. I wanted to give you a different present, but your mother said to get you a gift card for Harrods, so I did. Hope it's okay. Not my style normally, you know that. Are you going to London like last year? I wish I could celebrate with you guys. Are you still using the star for the tree we got? Sorry, getting soppy. Happy Christmas again. I miss you, darlin'. Love you, always."

He stopped before his voice broke up entirely, making him sound even more pathetic. He had finally given up on expecting any calls from Daisy. A few months ago, he was still frequently staring at his phone willing it to ring with the picture of her happy smiling face lighting up the screen. He didn't do that any more.

There were a lot of things he didn't do any more. Like calling Emily Abbott. Or Baxter. They kept reaching out to him, but he had ignored their attempts. Just like his daughter ignored him. The only person he couldn't quite escape was Duncan. His friend had come to Broadchurch and put Hardy's head straight. Before Duncan left, he made Hardy promise to call him once a week and check in with him. Hardy complied but chose to ring at odd hours to only get Duncan's voicemail. He knew that these evasive maneuvers were childish, but he was afraid that any question from his friend would jeopardize the illusion of stability that he was desperately trying to uphold.

There was not much left in his life at this point. His family had been destroyed, by his ex-wife's as much as his own actions. He hadn't seen Daisy in almost a year. The last time he talked to her was right after the disastrous end of Ashworth's trial, when she had read in the papers that her father presumably had an affair that led to the loss of the crucial evidence. Her screamed "I hate you" still hurt his ears and soul. He never had a chance to explain anything and considering his treacherous heart, it was likely he never would. He had not spoken to her since then, leaving pathetic messages on her voicemail at least twice a week. He hated himself for letting this happen, for allowing the most precious thing in his life to be taken away from him. But he was too weak to make a serious effort to change things. He feared that if he knew for certain Daisy was rejecting him as her father, it would kill him. Now, he could at least pretend she was only mad at him, and one day when he solved this damn case, he could explain everything and she would return to him. He couldn't let himself think anything else, because if he did, the dark would win.

He shivered in the cold. The wind had picked up and the air smelled like snow. There was a time, when weather like this on Christmas Day had been exciting. Where he would have huddled up with his family, unwrapped presents, watched old Christmas movies on the telly, and ate way too much food. He was always home for the Holidays because he bribed his colleagues so he wouldn't have to work. No need for that now. On this Christmas day, neither one of the pillars of his life were there to hold him up.

His career, once so important to him that he neglected his family, had gone to shit. He hated his teaching position at the academy. He knew he was doing a poor job, but there wasn't anything left in him to motivate himself enough to be more inspiring. He used to be good at what he did, but his body had betrayed him and robbed him of the last thing in his life that could have grounded him. After his family was gone, being a detective had been the only thing giving meaning to his sorry existence. Emily had told him that there was a possibility he'd be able to go back to his former position if he had the surgery. It was a small chance, but still a chance. That had been before he collapsed in the boat yard while chasing down Joe bloody Miller. Gaining his position back seemed farther away than ever now and he felt very much adrift. But there was at least a tiny bit of hope and on days like this it was the only light at the end of the tunnel he could see.

He had to pause, having walked further than he probably should have. He sucked in some cold air, rubbing his chest. His fingers were tingling and lightheadedness tilted the horizon. Carefully, he stepped a few yards back from the edge of the cliff. Too wobbly to stand, he slowly lowered himself onto the ground. It made a soft crunching sound, when he placed his weight on the frozen blades of grass. He fished out his medication. His fingers were stiff from the winter chill and he fumbled with the blister pack. One of the white chalky pills fell and disappeared between the green stalks. Hardy cursed wholeheartedly.

Baxter had urged him to finally go through with the pacemaker, because frankly with his attitude what _did_ he have to lose? He had been mad at him, yelling and trying to talk sense into him. What he didn't understand was that Hardy couldn't make that decision. He had never been able to. Ever since the day he found out how tenuous a surgery would be, he had needed somebody to make it for him. That somebody that was supposed to look out for him had betrayed him and was now sleeping in another man's arms.

He absentmindedly rubbed the area where his wedding band used to be. A constant reminder that what he once thought was real and tangible had not been like that at all. They were divorced now for over a year and he still missed being with her. Maybe he had finally stopped _being in love_ with her, but everything else that Tess had represented - a family, a home, a companion - he still loved and missed badly every single day. And although she had betrayed him so deeply, he often wondered what he would do if she came back to him. On those days when he felt more lonely than usual, he sometimes dreamed about it. She came to take care of him, help him forget and move on with his life. When he woke up from those dreams, he found himself wishing he'd drowned again because the emptiness after the warmth of her imagined embrace was something he could barely handle.

The pills had done their job and the attack subsided. He had many of them now every day. After he had closed Danny's case and he was forced to rest, he entertained the illusion that maybe he didn't need any further intervention. He ignored all signs of his weakening heart until the day he ended up in the hospital again. Surprisingly, with the help of a bunch of new medications, he had been able to continue the detested teaching job and could manage without ever calling in sick or having any major attacks. Until a couple of weeks ago, when he woke up from a particularly nasty variety of Pippa's nightly haunting. His heart went ballistic on him. The medication didn't do what it was supposed to do and he seriously contemplated having to call an ambulance, before he passed out in his kitchen. Ever since that morning, things had been getting worse and his worry that he might not be able to finish what he had come here for was growing. But he couldn't let go, he needed to know if he had been right in the end.

His obsession to solve this case that was so instrumental in destroying everything else wasn't only detrimental to his physical health. Not for the first time he couldn't help but make the comparison to being a drug addict. The very thing that kept him going was also the thing that was going to be his downfall and possibly his end. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew how utterly insane his plan of keeping a close eye on Claire and trying to lure out Lee was. He had spent many months with her. Not once had she said or done anything that brought him in anyway closer to solving the case and Lee certainly hadn't shown his face. He hated all of this, hated being in this godforsaken town, surrounded by those smiley faces who were so quick to condemn one of their own for nothing except being married to the wrong man. But he had no means to escape. Nowhere to go besides to hell. He doubted heaven would let him in.

The sun started to go down, fading early in the afternoon so close to winter solstice. The bright orange and red layers of the magnificent sunset reminded him of his daughter who loved the ocean and the horizon. He wished he could show it to her, share at least this one thing like they used to share so many. He told himself that the stinging in his eyes was not from tears but only from the sharp cold wind and that the salt he tasted on his lips was from the ocean gust and not his own. He dragged his freezing fingers over his face, shivering more now. He should get back to his shack before it got too dark. The last thing he needed was to trip over some brush and fall of the cliff. Or maybe that wouldn't be the worst. He scolded himself. He had worked so hard to overcome depression and associated suicidal thoughts that he really shouldn't indulge. Even if it was disguised as dark humor. He sighed and clambered to his feet. It was time for his medications. The easiest way out, simply not taking them. _Stop it Hardy_ , he chided himself, trying to steer away from the soul-sucking abyss that was always there somewhere in the back of his mind.

Before he began his slow descent towards the town, he looked down on the beach where Danny had been found. A woman was standing there, a woman in an orange windbreaker. His heart sped up. It couldn't be Ellie Miller? Last time he thought he'd seen her hideous jacket was on his birthday. He had been about to crawl into his bed when something had caught his eyes through the blinds. When he had peered out of his window there had been nothing in the dark.

They hadn't seen each other since she left for Devon. Granted, that wasn't entirely true. _He_ had seen _her_. _She_ , however, hadn't seen _him_. If she had any idea that he had stalked her, he would probably not survive her wrath. He had wanted to believe that she could move on, build a new life for herself, but watching her from afar only had reinforced what he had feared. She was as lonely as he was. Tom refused to talk to her and the only people who she did talk to on a regular basis were her therapist, her sister and her toddler son. One was being paid, the other one was driven by guilt and the baby was just that, a baby. Her situation didn't sound much better than his. He still felt oddly responsible about what happened to her, even if he really wasn't. He wished she would have let him help her, but after that one night when she had come and opened up, she had never answered his text messages.

He tried not to lose eyesight of her while he was slowly making his way down the cliff. He wanted to talk to her, not only because she would have been a welcome change from Claire's overly flirtatious company, but more so because the memory of last Christmas was burning in his mind. Being by yourself for the first time on this particular day after having spent it with family for so many years was a horrid experience and the loneliness was so excruciatingly painful. Baxter had come to get him and saved his sorry arse yet again. He hoped that Ellie Miller had someone like this in her life as well.

She got into her car before he could catch up with her. _Bollocks._ He wouldn't be able to follow her now. To his surprise she didn't go far. He was still up high enough that he could see her pull over at one of the pubs at the edge of town that was open despite it being Christmas Day. He stopped and thought for a moment. If he walked back and around the other way, he could get there by foot in not too long of a time. He patted his pockets down to feel for his pills. He had enough on him to dare this little excursion. There was nothing waiting for him at home. He turned around and marched on at a steady pace.

By the time he finally got there, the snow was falling more heavily. He relished the feeling of the melting flakes on his face. He liked snow, always had, and he was content that his small adventure gave him an excuse to go for a longer walk through the winter night. Her car was still there. He shook the flakes out of his hair and brushed them off his coat before entering the pub. He lingered in the dark vestibule until he spotted her. She wasn't alone. CS Jenkinson was sitting with her in the booth. Now that was unexpected. What were the two women meeting about on Christmas Day? He carefully sneaked up to them and placed himself in the adjacent booth. For once he was grateful for the gloomy atmosphere in those country pubs. The waitress came over and he ordered a draft beer that he wouldn't be drinking. Then he focused on listening in to their conversation. He felt somewhat guilty, but he had nothing else to preoccupy his mind with than the wretched Sandbrook case. Their voices were low, but he was able to hear them.

"I don't know, Ellie. Do you really think this is a good idea? Aren't you worried what people would think?" Jenkinson asked doubtfully.

"Why don't you just say, you don't want me back, instead of hiding behind everyone else's opinion?" Ellie replied bitterly. It didn't take a detective to figure out what Ellie had inquired about. She was attempting to return to Broadchurch CID. "You bloody well know I had nothing to do with it," she hissed.

"Ellie, your association with your husband makes you vulnerable for attack by the public. I don't need that again," Jenkinson stated coldly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ellie sounded confused. Hardy had a suspicion. Jenkinson had said something very similar to him when Danny Latimer had been found on the beach.

Jenkinson didn't elaborate. Instead she changed topic. "There are no positions anyway. Besides the one we talked about already."

"So, you think he's not going to come back?" Ellie wondered.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure, but from what I hear, I don't think so. And it's not only his health. After the previous case and now this, people have been looking into him. There are some strong concerns."

"I don't get it. I mean, I have no idea what happened in Sandbrook before he came here, but he did well here."

Hardy took in a breath. If there had been any doubt, now he was sure they must have been talking about him earlier. He sunk deeper into his booth and absentmindedly sipped on the drink in front of him. The bitter taste of the beer made him gag. He wasn't used to it any more.

"That's a matter of perspective, Ellie," Jenkinson continued. "He was hiding a serious health problem not only while he was in Broadchurch but from what it seems also while he was leading the Sandbrook case. His ex-wife was very forthcoming with some of the facts after everything fell apart in court."

Hardy almost lost it. What the fuck did Tess say in the internal hearings? She wasn't supposed to give them any information. That had been part of the deal. His heart was hammering away in his chest.

"But he still did his job despite being ill. It was him who caught Joe, not anyone else. I don't think I would have…," Ellie trailed off. He could hear the pain in her voice.

"He bent a lot of rules and he let you go see your husband after the arrest. And we all know what happened then," Jenkinson countered.

"It wasn't his fault. He told me not to touch him and I couldn't control myself." Ellie was exasperated and angry.

"He should have known better. Just as much as he should have known better in Sandbrook. He's a liability and was dishonest. I don't think I would offer him his position back, even if he were ever healthy enough again. And most others wouldn't either," Jenkinson replied disdainfully.

His heart skipped a few beats it couldn't afford to miss and the abyss opened up in front of him. His last anchor to the edge crumbled underneath his grappling soul and he fell. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the booth. His fingers were trembling when they wrapped themselves around the glass with his beer. He stared at it for a split second and then he drank it down in one long quick gulp. He signaled the waitress to bring another.

"I'm sorry Ellie. I can't do anything until I have a position opening." Jenkinson ended the conversation. She stood. "Happy Christmas. Stay in touch."

Ellie sounded defeated when she said her goodbyes. "Yah, sure. Happy Christmas to you too."

He ducked deeper into the booth when they left and neither one of them recognized him. He could feel the effect that the drink had on his body that had forgotten how to handle alcohol. He embraced the intoxication and fuzziness that it left him with. His heart was skipping more beats. He downed the second glass and hoped that the inebriating effect of the alcohol would make up for the increasing pain in his chest. It almost did. He had made it halfway through the third glass when his heart stopped.

* * *

Baxter was woken by his phone. He ignored it at first as he wasn't on duty and it was Christmas after all. When it rang again, he frowned and rolled over. Obviously someone really wanted to talk to him. He just missed the call. It was an unknown number. He was about to ring back when it went off again. His wife growled something about finally picking up the bloody phone and so he did.

"Baxter here," he grumped into the speaker.

"Is this Edward Baxter?" a male voice inquired.

He sat up, suddenly concerned. "This is he. Who's this?"

"My name is Dr. Charles Davis. I'm a physician at Dorset County Hospital."

Baxter was already climbing out of his bed, before the doctor could go on. Hardy was down there.

"Do you know a man named Alec Hardy?"

The hairs on his back tingled. "Yes, I do. He's a good friend. Why?" The last time he had heard from Hardy was a couple of months ago. Another call from a different hospital. He had gone to pick Hardy up from A&E and brought him home. After that the stubborn fool had ignored all his calls. Again.

"You're listed as his emergency contact. Mr. Baxter, I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Hardy has suffered a cardiac arrest and is currently admitted to our ICU. His condition is extremely critical and we are worried he might not survive the next twenty-four hours. Is there any family we should contact?"

Baxter had to swallow before he could answer. "I'll take care of that. He's divorced and not on good terms with his ex-wife and daughter. I'll be down there as soon as I can. Will you call me if anything changes before I get there? Please?" His voice was trembling.

"Of course. We'll try everything that we can. It depends on him now. One question, Mr. Baxter. Do you know if he ever had intentions on self-harm?" the doctor inquired carefully.

Baxter froze. He had been sure Hardy had overcome this issue. "He has been on treatment for depression in the past. Why're you asking?"

"When it happened he was in a pub, alone, on Christmas Day, rather obviously trying to get drunk as fast as he could. It made me wonder, that's all. Let's see how the next twenty-four hours go and hope we get a chance to ask him about it. I'll see you when you get here. Ask for Dr. Davis."

The doctor hung up the phone and Baxter plopped on the bed.

"What's going on, darling?" his wife wanted to know, her eyes wide with sleep and worry.

"Alec had another cardiac arrest and it doesn't look good. He's down there in Dorset. I've got to go there. I'm sorry." He placed a kiss on her cheek and she ruffled his hair.

"Please drive carefully. The streets are treacherous these nights." He smiled at her.

"I promise. I'll call when I get there. Don't know when I'll be back." She nodded, trying to hide her worry. He bent down and gave her a real kiss this time. "Don't worry, honey, I'll be fine."

"It's not you I'm worried about. Alec's been so ill all along and who knows what he's been up to since he stopped talking to you. He's so unreasonable when it comes to taking care of himself." His wife echoed his own thoughts. He squeezed her hand.

"I won't let him get away with shit this time. Shouldn't have listened to him last year when he had one excuse after the other to get this damn operation done. If he makes it through this, he's going to get it. And if I have to drag him there myself, I'll do that." She smiled at him reassuringly and after squeezing his hand, gently nudged him to get going.

He grabbed a few clothing items and tossed them in a bag. He got dressed and hurried to get on the road. When he was already out of Sandbrook, he called Emily Abbott. He had no idea if she was still in touch with Hardy, especially since she had the baby, but he was sure she would want to know, even if it was in the middle of the night. She picked up quickly.

"Hi Emily, It's Ed." There was a baby screaming in the background. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't wake him up, did I?" Baxter asked apologetically.

"No, you didn't Ed. What happened to Alec?" She didn't waste any time, arriving at the obvious conclusion.

"I got a call from Dorset County Hospital. He had another arrest, he's in their ICU. They said they don't know if he's going to make it through the next twenty-four hours."

She was silent for a moment and he thought she might be crying. "I can't get there until tomorrow Ed. My whole family is here, first Christmas with the baby, you know. If you give me the name of the doctor I'll call and see what they can tell me."

He felt bad for her. "Don't stress yourself. I'll keep you updated. It's just like him to try and off himself on Christmas." He said it before he could hold himself back.

"What do you mean by that?" Her voice was shrill.

 _Shit._ He really didn't want to throw that at her, but it was too late now. "The doctor told me he was in a pub by himself, trying to get drunk quickly. Seems like a rather deliberate attempt to me. He knows better than to do that."

She was silent again and this time, he was sure she was crying. She sniffed and finally spoke. "I really thought he was okay with that now. I would have been after him more if I still thought he was at risk for doing something more stupid than normal. It's my fault, Ed."

"Oh no, it most definitely isn't. Don't do this to yourself. We both have done our best to keep him safe and sound and when he left, it was him who ran away. I know how you feel, because it's the same for me, but we can't work ourselves up over this. We don't know what happened. Let's hope we get a chance to yell at him when he wakes up. Right?" Baxter tried to be as convincing as he could.

"Right," she said hesitantly.

"The name of the doctor is Charles Davis. He –"

"Charles is still his doctor?" Emily interrupted him in surprise. "The man has more patience than I would have given him credit for."

Baxter rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me, this guy also knows my brother," he huffed.

Emily chuckled. "Marty is a very social person. And he likes telling stories, especially about his little brother."

Baxter was relieved that Emily had found her way back to a lighter mood.

"Let me know if you find out more before I get there. Should take me another four hours or so."

"Drive safely. I'll ring back if I have more information. Bye Ed. And thanks for calling me."

"Of course. We'll keep in close touch. He'll make it, he always does." Baxter ended the call. For once he wasn't so sure about the truth of his last statement, mostly because he wasn't sure if his friend wanted to survive.

* * *

When he finally got there, it was almost morning. He found the ICU and the doctor who had called him. They told him that Hardy was still in critical condition but at least he had not deteriorated. He braced himself for seeing his friend in this setting, something he hoped he would never have to do again.

Hardy looked worse than he ever had. His face was covered with a scruffy beard, his hair was unruly and way longer than it had been. Baxter was sure that his gaunt face was not only due to his current status, but because he must have lost more weight. He would never get used to the sight of a breathing tube sticking out his mouth. The swooshing noise of the ventilator grated on his nerves and he hated the eerie green lights that the IV pumps bathed Hardy in. They made him look more dead than alive. It was horrifying and all he could do was sit next to his bed and cry.

A nurse explained all the cables and machines. The most notable difference from Hardy's previous ICU stays, were the wires of an external pacemaker, something that apparently was the only thing that kept his heart rhythm stable at this point.

Baxter couldn't handle it and had to step out. He called Louise briefly to find some comfort. Then he texted Emily, letting her know that he was at Hardy's side and that not much had changed. She told him she'd spoken with the doctor and that she'd be there by the end of the day. When she arrived late in the evening, Baxter felt relieved to have company. He saw the shock on Emily's face when she walked into the room. At first she found distraction with all the machines that were hooked up to Hardy, but eventually there was nothing she could hide behind any more. She stood next to Hardy's still body for a long time, until she gently brushed the long hair out of his face.

"I'm sorry, Alec. I should have taken better care of you," she whispered into his ear. Tears were glittering in her eyes. Baxter left his post in the corner and put an arm around her.

"Don't berate yourself. He'd be the first to tell you not to. Let's hope he's got enough stubbornness in him to get through this," Baxter tried comforting her.

"He always does, right?" There was a desperation in her voice that made Baxter's heart ache.

"He always does," he replied, putting a conviction into his words that he didn't feel.

* * *

The next days passed slowly. Baxter and Emily were both content that Hardy was still around, even if he was barely clinging onto life. Emily was going back and forth between Sandbrook and the hospital, until one day her husband had enough, packed up the baby and met Emily with a hotel key in the parking lot.

The doctors attempted repeatedly to take him off the external pacemaker but Hardy's heart failed every time. They tried to be positive and reassure them, but Emily and Baxter knew better than that. Emily made some gentle suggestions based on her treatment experience with Hardy. Dr. Davis sighed and muttered something about hating to owe favors, but agreed to see if it would make a difference. They didn't have much left in their back pockets.

It was the morning of New Year's Eve. After their daily rounds, the doctors had told Baxter and Emily that they would give him another trial off the pacemaker today after adjusting all medications and adding a few. If Hardy couldn't sustain his rhythm this time, they would not put him back. Baxter lost it and yelled at them. They lost it too and had him removed from the room. After everyone had calmed down, they negotiated that if Hardy didn't make it this time, they would place him back so that Baxter could notify Hardy's family, something he hadn't done yet. He was sure that if it hadn't been for Emily, they would not have conceded.

He was sitting alone at Hardy's bed, holding his cold clammy hand. Slowly, he began to talk.

"Alec, I don't know if you can hear me. I hope you do though. You have to be good today, please. You can't let all this shit beat you. You're stronger than that. You have to wake up so that I get to yell at you about what you've been doing to yourself. You owe me this much, do you hear me? And you owe it to Emily too. We are here for you, you're not alone. Whatever you were thinking, forget about it and come back to us, please."

Tears were running down his cheeks, dripping on Hardy's hand. He rubbed them gingerly.

"You're one of my best friends, don't leave me hanging. Not after all the struggles you went through. Think about what a waste of time and energy that would have been. You've been so stubborn your whole life, please don't use this time now to have a change of heart. I don't want to have to call Daisy on New Year's Day and tell her, her father is dying. Please don't do that to me. Please, Alec, don't go."

He couldn't go on any more, overwhelmed by the grief he was feeling. He placed a gentle kiss on Hardy's forehead and propped his head up with his hands still holding Hardy's. He was still sitting like that in the now dark room when Emily joined him and they came to turn off the external pacemaker. It was the longest New Year's Eve Baxter and Emily ever had to endure. They watched Hardy's heart go in and out of the arrhythmia, barely hanging in there and their hope sank more every time it happened.

In the end, they would never know if it was Emily's expertise in guiding his treatment or Baxter's words or a belated Christmas miracle. When midnight rang in the New Year, Hardy's heart took a big jolt. They thought this might be the moment, but then it came back, beating with a steady rhythm and didn't falter again.

Hardy regained consciousness on New Year's morning. And Emily and Baxter were ready to give him the bollocking of a life time.

* * *

Hardy picked at the mushy hospital food. They called it soft diet, easier on the stomach. He called it poison. It sure didn't help his appetite that wasn't stellar anyway with all the medications that they were pumping into his system. At least he got to eat. They didn't let him at first, worried about the injury to his body after his heart had stopped and he'd been in a coma for a week. When they had told him he had been gone for almost ten minutes, he couldn't hide his shock. Apparently, it was a miracle his brain wasn't as mushy as the food in front of him. He guessed that was a good thing.

When he had woken up, he was staring into Baxter's and Emily's worried faces. He was happy to see them, but not for very long. As soon as they thought he wasn't going to die on them again, they both had yelled at him what the hell he was thinking to scare them like that. Emily had sobbed and Hardy feared Baxter was going to have a stroke. Then they both gave him a big hug and moved on, as if they hadn't lost all composure. He was confused and when they laughed at his puzzled face, he was wondering if he maybe had died after all and this was some messed up version of the afterlife.

It had been three days since then. Ten days since he had wanted it to end. His actions that evening were still scaring him. He knew that Baxter itched to talk to him about it, but he had been avoiding the questions he didn't have any answers for himself. He didn't want to think about it and he had refused to talk to the psychiatrist they sent.

The door to his room opened and Baxter walked in. He plopped down on a chair next to Hardy's bed.

"I took care of Claire. She was freaking out because you had been missing in action. She was ready to call the police. You're lucky I got to her in time. What are you thinking, Alec? Hiding her like that? You're going to get yourself in trouble."

Hardy snorted. "What difference does it make? As per Jenkinson I'm a liability and dishonest. Nobody's going to give me a job, provided I should ever come close to being fit for active duty again." He could taste the bitterness of his words in his mouth.

Baxter frowned. "What are you talking about? Jenkinson always spoke highly of you."

"Not any more. I overheard her talking to Ellie Miller in the pub. Wasn't exactly confidence inspiring," Hardy scoffed.

Baxter observed him thoughtfully for a while, then leaned closer and looked him straight in the eye. Hardy tried to escape his steel blue stare, but he didn't let him. "Is that what happened that evening?" Baxter probed gently.

Hardy swallowed and nodded. Baxter waited patiently and Hardy knew he wouldn't be able to avoid it now. His voice was hoarse when he finally found some words to explain himself.

"It was the last thing that kept me going, you know. Thinking I could finally get Sandbrook right and then get back to work. At least one thing I could have control over. One thing I was good at. Wasn't good at being a husband or a father, but my job - that I did well. Or at least I thought so."

Baxter looked like he was going to say something, but refrained from doing so, giving Hardy the opportunity to continue.

Hardy pressed his lips together and stared out of the window. There were angry tears trickling down his cheeks. "And she said that Tess told the internal affairs guys about me being ill during the investigation and who knows what else. I was such a fool to think she wouldn't retaliate. And all I ever did was try to protect her and Daisy. I'm such an idiot, Ed. I should have listened to you." His self-loath was overwhelming. He could barely handle his emotions as the monitor undoubtedly gave away.

Baxter took in a deep breath. "Listen to me very carefully. I know what Tess told the committee because I was there and I have seen all the paperwork. You can think of her whatever you want – and you know what _I_ think of her – but all she said was that you were in the hospital after you found out about the pendant. And they already knew that. I have no idea why Jenkinson would say something like that. As for the other part, I would give you a job any time if you finally get yourself taken care of. Right now, I can't and we both know you wouldn't survive it. Not like this."

Hardy flinched. He didn't like hearing the harsh truth. He stared at the ceiling tiles, hoping to find consolation where there wasn't really any.

"Emily still thinks that even with everything that happened you could get back to a reasonable degree of health and have a job within the police force. Maybe not running down suspects and working high profile murder cases as the lead investigator, but still within CID if that's what you really want. Maybe you should think of some other area though, considering how much your recent cases affected you. It's only a suggestion, so don't take it the wrong way, because you are good at what you do." Baxter leaned back and watched him take in what he had said.

Hardy closed his eyes. Maybe Baxter was right. Maybe CID wasn't the right environment for him any more. He wanted to get back on track, but it was so hard. He was so far away from anything that resembled the life he used to have. He was afraid of dying, but just as much afraid of continuing his life like this.

"Alec, why did you get drunk that day?" Baxter's voice was quiet and carefully held neutral.

Hardy kept his eyes closed, unable to look at his friend. "I wanted the pain to end, Ed. Didn't want to be in my brain any more, wanted to numb myself. Hearing what Jenkinson was saying made everything crumble and I had nothing to hold onto. So I let go," he confessed flatly.

Hardy listened to Baxter's heavy breathing. His friend waited for a while before he spoke. "Can you promise you won't do that again?"

Hardy opened his eyes and found Baxter's. It hurt to see the sorrow in them. For the briefest moment he contemplated lying, but Baxter didn't deserve lies.

"Honestly, I don't know. I thought I was all right in that respect, but clearly I'm not. I don't want to die, Ed. Not really, but this life that I have scares me and I don't want it." His tone was echoing the despair he was feeling.

"Then we'll have to change that life. And the first step is to get that stupid heart of yours fixed. Emily said that you will have to wait before it would be safe to get the procedure done. She was thinking maybe March or April," Baxter stated pragmatically.

There was a big lump in his throat. He couldn't say yes to something that he thought was going to kill him. On the other hand he had attempted to end it all after hearing what Jenkinson had said to Miller. Thinking of Ellie reminded him that there was one other thing in his life that had helped him to go on. He wanted to help Ellie get back on track. And for that he needed to get Joe Miller convicted.

"Ed, I can only do it after Joe Miller goes to prison. I need to be there, so that I know it all went right. I can't let that go, I really –" His heart rate went up and the monitor started alarming when Baxter interrupted him.

"It's all right, Alec. Don't get all upset. Let's find out when the plea date is and we can see if it's reasonable to wait that long. How about that?" Baxter tried to calm him down as best as he could. Hardy hoped Baxter didn't think this was yet another tactic to draw things out, but he needed to hear the guilty verdict with his own ears. After what happened with Ashworth's trial, he couldn't stand the thought that he would have to go through all this again. That he would fail another time.

Hesitantly, he nodded. The decision was made for him and the amount of relief he felt was enormous. It let him breathe easier than he had in weeks. A small smile flickered over his face.

"Oi, what was that? Did you actually smile? Haven't seen that in a while. Have to ask your doctors to share those pain meds with me," Baxter teased and Hardy's smile grew bigger.

"I'm not sharing. Go get your own heart condition. Maybe they'll give you some then."

"A joke? Seriously? Now I really want some of that stuff." Baxter grinned from one ear to the other. Hardy tried to throw his pillow but was not coordinated enough to get it past all the cables and tubes that were connected to him. It fell on the floor instead. The effort left him breathless and he slumped back on the firm mattress. He cursed. He glanced at Baxter who was holding up the pillow with a mischievous grin on his face.

"It's the drugs or the pillow?" Baxter raised his eyebrows.

Hardy tried to snatch it away from him, but that only made things worse and exhausted he gave up. "I hate you, Ed," he growled.

Baxter carefully propped him up and placed the pillow under him. "No you don't, Alec. And I love you too, you stubborn wanker," he said tenderly, a small smile playing around his lips.

* * *

Baxter insisted on Hardy staying at his house until he was sure that Hardy's mood had sufficiently improved for him to be left alone. He also insisted on having a date set for the pacemaker surgery. Hardy let him handle everything, very well knowing that if it had been left up to him, it would never happen.

Once he was feeling better, he went for a long walk through a snowy Sandbrook. His thoughts were meandering and so were his tracks. He avoided the river. It was always with him, no need to go seek it out. His feet took him to Mary's Tearoom when he got too tired and frozen from the winter chill. Mary left him alone to brood in his corner and he was content with observing the constant stream of people coming in and out. He hid behind his cup, curling his cold fingers around the steaming mug and nearly dozing off.

"Dad?"

Hardy squeezed his eyes shut and took in a steadying breath before he lifted his head and looked up at his daughter's face. He hadn't seen her in almost a year. _Hell_ , he hadn't even heard her voice for that matter.

"Daisy," was all he could get out. He marveled at how much older she looked.

"What are you doing here? Thought you're still down South," she asked suspiciously.

"Erm... Ed Baxter invited me to –" He stopped, unable to come up with a good lie. "You look good, darlin'," he distracted instead. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

"Dad, you're being embarrassing," she scolded him, scrutinizing her feet. He crossed his arm over his chest, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Sorry?" he said, raking his fingers through his unruly hair.

"You need to get a haircut. And shave that beard." She reached over and brushed her knuckles over his scruff. A shiver ran down his spine. She was standing tall over him, something he wasn't used to. Her long hair had fallen onto his shoulder when she bent towards him and he could smell her shampoo. It was still the same. At least one thing that hadn't changed.

"Do you want to sit down?" he offered, cringing at the pathetic tone in his voice. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her.

She shook her head, face impassive. "I can't. I've got to go back to school."

"Right," he pressed through clenched teeth, clinging on to the tea mug to hide his trembling fingers. His heart jolted again like it had been for the past few minutes. It was probably better that she didn't stay. Last thing he wanted was for her to accompany him to A&E.

"Yeah, sorry, Dad. Are you staying? In Sandbrook, I mean," she asked and Hardy scolded himself for imagining that she sounded hopeful.

"No. I'm not." Claire Ripley and the insufferable teaching job were waiting for him in his personal hell.

"Oh." The one syllable carried more disappointment than Hardy would have expected.

"'M sorry," he muttered under his increasingly labored breath. He blamed his lightheadedness on the heat in the small tearoom.

"Are you?" she asked, her wide hazel eyes that were so much like his boring into him. He bravely held her fiery gaze.

"Aye. I'm sorry," he repeated, apologizing for all the wrong he'd ever done to her.

She stood there, hair framing her flushed face, breathing hard. Then before he knew it, she pecked a kiss on his stubbly cheek. "I don't hate you, Dad," she breathed in his ear and then ran off as fast as she could.

Hardy's world tilted and his heart was leaping in his chest. But not because of his arrhythmia, but because of four simple words. It was the Twelfth Night today, the last day of the Christmas season, the last day for Christmas miracles to happen. Hardy wondered if he'd just found himself in one. He leaned back against the wall of the corner he'd been sitting in and closed his eyes. She didn't hate him. His lips curled up to a small smile. He could live with that.

* * *

 **A/N:** Now, there is a third Christmas that is part of this story, the holidays after Ellie and Alec closed the Sandbrook case. I debated for a long time with myself if I should put it up now or in the future (who wouldn't want to read a Christmas story in the Spring, right?), but as it's really far ahead in my timeline of "The Ocean Breathes Salty" I decided to hold back for now. I apologize because the third Christmas is the most uplifting and happiest of the bunch and was supposed to be the pay-off for all the heart ache. But I'll share it when it's time, I hope you understand and bear with me.

I'll close with one last remark – in my head canon the events of this chapter are somewhat of a turning point in Alec Hardy's life. I was wondering what had finally convinced him to go through with the pacemaker surgery after waiting for so long and why he'd do it during the trial. I imagine he never thought there would be one and he had planned for after the guilty plea. Well, we all know how that worked out. Also, I wanted him to have this wake-up call to finally make the changes he needs to make in order to go on with his life.


End file.
